


Initiation

by athena_crikey



Series: Into the Fire [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Yes Minister, Yes Prime Minister
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 12:40:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14237517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena_crikey/pseuds/athena_crikey
Summary: After the Ministry of Magic cuts lines of communication with the Prime Minister, it's up to Sir Humphrey and Bernard to take the next steps in the fight against anti-Muggle violence.





	Initiation

It was hot and muggy in the private office, the result of an unseasonably warm spring and the old building’s fickle central heating system. Bernard was working on the PM’s agenda for the upcoming week when the wards flared up, rolling like a wall of hot air over the back of his neck. He twitched, looking up without rising.

It was the PM’s prerogative to keep his meetings with the Minister for Magic personal. In practice, he rarely did. Hacker had a deep seated aversion to being thrown in the deep end of the pool without a life preserver.

Sure enough, a moment later the phone buzzed. “Bernard, come in here would you? And bring the green book.”

“Yes, Prime Minister.” Bernard set the phone down and unlocked his bottom drawer, pulling out a green leather-bound volume from within. In the privacy of his head, he thought of it as Magical Minutes. 

He slipped into the Prime Minister’s office, book under his arm. It wasn’t as hot in the large interior office, despite the green flames leaping in the fireplace – they gave off no heat. Standing among them was a silver ram, complete with curled horns, looking patient and pre-possessed. 

“So this line of communication will be cut, effective immediately,” it was saying, in Millicent Bugnold’s no-nonsense tones.

“But you can’t – I mean, what about – you, us, _them?_ ” the Prime Minister stammered. “And – Bernard, this, this _sheep_ is saying the Ministry is stopping fireplace traffic.” Hacker looked to him, eyebrows high with panic.

“Then how will you be communicating in the future?” asked Bernard, astounded.

“Yes, how?” echoed Hacker, looking back to the fireplace over his reading glasses, the green flames flickering in the lens’ magnified reflection.

“Communications will resume in such time and manner as is effective and appropriate, given the evolving situation,” said the patronus, in a dead-sounding voice.

“What situation?” asked Hacker.

“You mean you’re cutting off _all_ communication,” said Bernard, staring. The leather-bound book dangled from his limp fingers.

“In a surfeit of caution, for the time being the Ministry is choosing to pursue matters internally.”

“But you can’t, can you? Your own legislation requires you to inform us whenever one of us gets tied up with your lot. Bernard, get Humphrey in here.”

Bernard picked up the phone, which connected with the private office. “Get Sir Humphrey down here, please. Right away.”

“Communications will resume when the timing is appropriate,” the ram repeated. “That is all.”

“It bloody well isn’t,” snapped Hacker. Just as, in a shower of silvery flecks, the patronus disappeared and the fire went out. “Get it back,” he demanded, pointing a shaking finger at the fireplace as he tugged his glasses free of his face; they caught on his ear and came away with a clatter. “Get it back here _this instant._ ” 

“Um, I can’t actually get it back, Prime Minister, a patronus must be cast by its witch or wizard and I can’t force…” he stuttered to a halt under the fiery strength of Hacker’s glare. “I’ll just contact the Minister again,” he said, hurrying forward and producing his wand. Lighting a fire in the grate, he drew a handful of green powder from the unobtrusive pot on the mantelpiece and threw it into the flames. They flared up green and he drew closer. “Minister for Magic, Millicent Bugnold’s office,” he announced. The flames wavered, then curled in on themselves like burning paper, the edges turning coal black. The blackness burned its way down to the heart of the flames, and the fire went out. 

“Oh,” said Bernard, staring.

“What?”

Bernard turned, licking his lips nervously. “They’ve cut off our connection to their office. We can’t get through.”

“Then try something else,” ordered Hacker, words sharp as broken glass.

“Perhaps it might be better, Prime Minister, if –”

“Hello,” purred a low, obsequious voice. Both men looked over as Sir Humphrey padded into the room, dapper as always. “Prime Minister, you called?”

“We’ve been cut off, Humphrey. Chucked out in the cold by a wolf in lamb’s clothing.”

“Wolves can’t actually throw, Prime Minister,” broke in Bernard, helpfully. “They walk on all fours and don’t have opposable thumbs.”

Hacker considered him silently for a moment, then swivelled back to Sir Humphrey. “Cut off,” he repeated, incensed. 

Sir Humphrey blinked, perplexed. “ _Who_ has cut you off, Prime Minister?” he inquired gently, like a parent speaking to a bawling child.

“The Minister for bloody Magic,” Hacker expanded. Sir Humphrey’s face turned stormy.

“Why?”

Hacker blinked. “What?” 

“ _Why_ have they cut you off?”

“If I knew that, we wouldn’t have such massive communication gaps.” Hacker stepped round to his desk and seated himself, glancing through the papers in an open folder on the blotter before snorting and shoving them away. “What are we to do? Send one of your ridiculous messenger birds? Pay a visit in person?”

“I think if the Ministry is breaking their own laws in cutting off communication with us, they probably have a pretty good reason, Prime Minister.” Bernard seated himself at the side of the desk, notebook on his knee.

“Such as?”

Bernard glanced at Sir Humphrey, who seated himself with a jaguar’s parsimony of movement, a sour look on his face. “I think you may find, in considering the propensities of prior examples, that when faced with a looming logistical and authoritative transformation, in a number of cases considered across a wide time scale, we have on occasion had the opportunity to note that the termination of external consultation is an occurrence which is not totally incompatible with said examples.” He shot the cuffs of his jacket and sat, glowering. 

Hacker, drooping slightly to the left in the aftermath of this speech, straightened. “What does that mean?”

“It means, Prime Minister, that the Ministry may be in the midst of a regime change,” translated Sir Humphrey.

“Change? In favour of who?”

“That remains to be seen.”

“You don’t think – that is to say – what about the Death Eaters?” Bernard wilted slightly under the combined glares of Hacker and Sir Humphrey, but carried on in a weak voice. “It’s just – _The Prophet_ seems to have been muzzled, and the attack figures keep rising, and, well… what if the Ministry’s lost control?”

Hacker looked alarmed. “What about the police? The military?”

“They don’t exist as such, Prime Minister. The Aurors act as law enforcement, and they’ve been making no headway, so far as my notes suggest.”

“Are we talking about a coup? Within Britain?” Hacker’s voice rose with incredulity.

Bernard ran a hand through his hair, glancing at his two masters. “Yes, Prime Minister.”

“But what are we to do? Send military aid?”

“We can’t, Prime Minister. For one thing, how could we possibly explain it? For another, I am not totally convinced guns are the most effective weapon against the wizarding community,” replied Sir Humphrey, dryly.

“But we’re talking about an overthrow by a racist regime, Humphrey!”

“A situation which is not entirely without precedent on the world stage.” Sir Humphrey crossed his legs, face stony. 

“Not in Britain!”

“Not recently,” added Bernard.

“You’re talking about a British Apartheid,” spat Hacker, almost trembling with vexation.

“I’m afraid in this case economic sanctions may not be sufficient,” drawled Sir Humphrey.

Hacker glared at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. We need a solution that _works!_ ”

Bernard set his pen down in the middle crease of his book, fastidiously hooking the clip over the edge of the page. “The problem, Prime Minister, is that we don’t have one. Traditionally, wizards have dealt with the rises of dark lords entirely on their own.”

Hacker turned slowly to Bernard, staring. “You mean this has happened before?”

“Yes – the last was Grindlewald, in the 1930s.”

Hacker snorted delicately. “Sounds like a place in Switzerland. Well, what happened to him then?”

“He was defeated by Albus Dumbledore in a duel. Most dark lords are overthrown in single confrontations.”

“Duel?” echoed Hacker, disbelievingly. “Pistols at dawn, shots fired at 20 paces, that sort of thing?”

“Well, more or less, Prime Minister. Wizarding duels are fought between two opponents – each tries to defeat the other with stronger or faster spells.”

“So more like Question Period,” said Hacker, mouth twitching upward momentarily.

Bernard canted his head in semi-agreement. “Only with more pain and suffering.”

Hacker nodded affirmatively. “Like Q.P. Anyway, what can we do about it? I assume you’re not prepared to go out and face Goliath?” he asked, eyes flickering over his PPS. 

Bernard blanched. “Absolutely not, Prime Minister. That would be suicide.” He took a breath, shoulders slowly lowering. “No. I think the best thing to do would be to find the opposition. There’s bound to be some – wizards traditionally haven’t had much faith in the Ministry to take the necessary action.”

“And how might one do that?” enquired Sir Humphrey, blandly. His eyes, however, were sharp at watchful. 

Bernard shared a glance between them. “I think the best place to start is the man who defeated the last dark lord.”

“This Dumbleditty fellow,” said Hacker.

“Dumbledore,” corrected Sir Humphrey, smoothly. Hacker glanced at him, surprised.

“Do you know him, Humphrey?”

“We met, on one occasion. He is the headmaster at my daughter’s school.” Sir Humphrey crossed his legs neatly, displaying a flash of maroon silk sock that matched his subdued tie. 

“You want to put the fate of Britain in the hands of a school administrator?” quavered Hacker.

“He’s one of the most brilliant minds in the wizarding community, Prime Minister,” said Bernard, earnestly. “And one of the most powerful wizards.”

Hacker looked to his Cabinet Secretary. “Humphrey?”

“He struck me as eminently able, if a trifle erratic. To point out the obvious, he was able to persuade me to entrust to him the task of my daughter’s schooling at a hitherto unheard of institution.”

“Able indeed,” agreed Hacker with a quirk of his mouth that quickly disappeared. “Well, what do we do about it, then? Put him on the guest list? Invite him ‘round for a sherry?”

“In order to avoid suspicion, Prime Minister, I would suggest that Bernard and I make the first salvo. A trip to Hogwarts is indicated. After all, I am simply an interested parent. And Bernard here is an alumnus.”

“Hogwarts,” said Hacker. “God, what a name.”

  
***

A brief flurry of correspondence by owl arranged a meeting, not at Hogwarts but in Hogsmead, in the Hog’s Head. Bernard and Sir Humphrey arrived in the dingy main room via the floo network, the terminus being a huge baronial fireplace that gave out onto a dirty stone floor.

Bernard arrived first, wand in hand, surveying the scene with a worried look. The room was empty except for a grungy man behind the bar who gave him a brief uninterested glance and returned to moving the grime around the countertop with a dirty rag. Sir Humphrey stumbled out of the fire a moment later, catching himself on Bernard’s shoulder and coughing. 

Bernard turned to him apologetically. “It takes a bit of getting used to.”

“I sincerely hope to never get used to such an appalling method of transit,” replied Sir Humphrey, dusting soot off his shoulders. He took a moment to look around the interior of the tavern, expression settling into one of increased scepticism. “Not entirely salubrious,” he said, eyes skirting the tarnished windows and scarred tables. 

“I always preferred the Three Broomsticks myself. But this is more private,” he said, taking a careful seat on one of the benches lining a wide table. Sir Humphrey seated himself beside the PPS. 

Across the room the heavy wooden door swung open, letting in a cool breeze. Albus Dumbledore swept into the room, greying hair fanning out in the wind behind him. He let the door shut and glanced around the room before stepping over to their table. “Sir Humphrey; a pleasure to meet you again. And Mr Woolley – I had not expected that our paths would cross again, pleasant surprise though it is.”

“Thank you, sir,” replied Bernard. Sir Humphrey nodded. 

Dumbledore sat himself down on the opposite side of the table, pulling off his cloak and folding it over the bench beside him. “What can I do for you gentlemen?” he asked. He looked tired in the low light, face lined and eyes heavy. 

“It’s about the state of the world. Or, more accurately, the state of our two worlds. The wizarding world, and the ordinary one,” said Sir Humphrey, coming briskly to the point. “In this past month alone ten deaths have been reported as related to magical activities, not to mention the rise in non-fatal incidents. The situation is intolerable. And the Minister for Magic has just cut ties with the Prime Minister’s office.”

As Sir Humphrey spoke, Dumbledore’s face shifted from politely welcoming to foreboding. “I’m afraid the situation is indeed intolerable. Acts of violence and hatred are occurring on a near-daily basis to those affiliated with Muggles. I’m sorry to say that there have been far more than 10 casualties of this appalling movement.”

“The Prime Minister wants to know what can be done to stop it,” said Sir Humphrey bluntly, eyes sharp and hawkish. 

“You have neatly divided the issue into two halves: the wizarding half and the non,” began Dumbledore, folding his wizened hands together on the scarred surface of the table. “I don’t believe there is anything your government can do to influence the downfall of the Death Eaters. I’m afraid that is a task which must be left up to us.”

“Us?” queried Sir Humphrey.

“Those members of the wizarding world who are agreed that this state of affairs can no longer continue, that it must be stopped at all costs. I am one such member; there are others. Even should the Ministry fall, staunch opposition will be maintained. Wizards are formidable individuals, Sir Humphrey; perhaps that individualism is what has led to this current crisis. But just as it has given rise to the Death Eaters, it has given rise to an equally powerful opposition. I can’t say anymore here, but you have my word that this fight has only just begun.”

“And in the non-wizarding world?” asked Bernard.

“That is where we have very limited reach. We have by and large failed to inform families that they are at risk; we have certainly failed to protect them.”

Sir Humphrey stirred, leaning forward. “Is it not symptomatic of a larger lack of communication between the two communities?”

“The attitude of the wizarding world has always been one of protectionism when it comes to revealing itself. History has taught us that the results are fear-mongering, persecution and lynching.”

Behind the bar, the old man disappeared, footsteps echoing as he descended into the cellar. In his absence, there was a moment of undisturbed silence. 

“The witch hunts,” replied Sir Humphry, breaking the quiet. Dumbledore nodded once. 

“Many of them weren’t successful in their goal of murder – but many were. Few witches and wizards were strong and sharp enough to fight off a mob, especially in those days when education was less common among the wizarding world. And of course there were many Muggle victims – cases of mistaken suspicion. It was a dark time in our history, and yours.”

“And thus the legal segregation. Unfortunately the results have been attempted genocide on your side, while ours is unable to retaliate – or protect itself. And if the first the populace was to learn of the wizarding world was its violent and bigoted nature, I fear the consequences would be extreme.” Sir Humphrey wove his fingers together, rocking his hands once back and forth on the scarred table. “Which brings us neatly back to the question: what is to be done?”

“Perhaps we could consider what it is you need,” suggested Dumbledore politely. 

Sir Humphrey raised a finger. “One: we must have a way of contacting any member of the public who is in perceived danger at this time – that requires a name and birthdate or, ideally, address. Two,” he raised another finger, “we must have the means of safeguarding these people in and about their homes. Three,” another finger, “we must arrange for emergency escape from harm.”

Behind the bar, the barman reappeared with a keg of beer floating steadily in front of him, wand in hand. Sir Humphrey turned to watch for a moment before turning his gaze back to the head master. 

“I fear of all those things the first will be most difficult to achieve. The Ministry keeps records of wizards and witches, but not of any members of the non-wizarding community associated with them. It might be possible to create such a list from the records of students invited to attend Hogwarts – both those whose families agreed to allow them to attend and those who did not. It would require a considerable administrative task on our end, however I believe you are correct in identifying it as essential. All Muggles with connections to the wizarding world must be warned.

“As for safeguarding, I understand that the Minister for Magic spoke with many Muggle parents recently to provide them with information on accessing the floo network; we can continue to offer that as a prime escape mechanism. Given the number of potential Muggles with ties to the wizarding world, and with the current disarrayed state of the Ministry, I do not believe we can offer other supports to any but those at the greatest risk. Among which you gentlemen may count yourselves – if the Death Eaters were to discover that two of the men at the top of the nation’s Muggle bureaucracy have ties to the wizarding world, you would become immediate targets.” He looked heavily at the two younger men, tone grave.

“What does safety look like?” asked Sir Humphrey.

“The Prime Minister’s office and residence are already heavily safeguarded; while you are there, you are as safe as we could hope to make you. There are spells of protection – shields and distraction charms – that could help to make your home secure; if you will provide me with your addresses, I can arrange for an expert in such spells to pay a visit. Ultimately however, I would suggest that you and your families have escape plans prepared, and be ready to act on them in short order should the necessity present itself.”

Sir Humphrey looked to Bernard, and then back to the head master. “How real do you believe this threat to be?” he asked. 

“I’m afraid, Sir Humphrey, that it is very real indeed.”

Sir Humphrey nodded, mouth a thin line and eyes stony. “Then we’d best begin.”

  
***

“So how did it go with Dumbledodger?” asked Hacker the next morning when Bernard came in to go over the daily diary.

“Dumbledore,” corrected Bernard absently. “We’ve made a start, Prime Minister. The head master will be providing us with a list of current and former non-wizarding relatives of wizarding children. It will be up to us to contact them and provide information for their safety.”

“Doesn’t sound like very much,” said Hacker, doubtfully. 

“I’m afraid this isn’t a problem the Royal Infantry and a few tanks can solve, Prime Minister.”

“Before you become Prime Minister, Bernard, you imagine that you have the entirety of the nation’s army and navy at your beck and call – and Polaris. Then you find out that none of it is of any use whatsoever. No matter the gravity of the situation, none of it can be deployed.”

Bernard gave a vague twitch of his lips. “Very frustrating,” he said. 

Hacker sighed, sinking down in his chair. “Notifying parents that they may be murdered in their beds, and there’s nothing we can do about it is more than frustrating, Bernard. And if it gets out…” He shuddered. 

“It’s not quite as bad as that, surely. We can provide escape assistance, and more support to those in the greatest danger.” A number amongst which, apparently, he was to count himself. He was carrying his wand with him everywhere he went now, for the first time in nearly two decades; it felt strange, like a return to a forgotten dream. “And the wizards _are_ making efforts to put down this movement.” 

Hacker considered for a moment, tapping his fingers on the desk, before looking up. “Yes, but ultimately… are things likely to get worse, do you think?”

Bernard took a breath, and reluctantly met his master’s eye. “Yes, Prime Minister.”


End file.
